Two Worlds Collide
by Piercethedemiharmony
Summary: Harley is not a normal 14 year old girl, she is growing up in the care of the state and has been for the last 5 years since the tragic day she lost her family. She has spent the last 5 years in the hell hole of a care home, growing up without love. She is labelled the troubled kid that no one wants, she has been to juvenile detention but yet she is the kid with the biggest heart, j
1. Prologue

**_Prologue:_**

 **Harley's POV:**

I smile peacefully in my beloved slumber, the dreams that take over my mind are better than the reality I live in. It's bitter sweet though, dreaming of my family is one of my favourite past times, but it is hard opening my eyes and realising all over again that they are no longer here. I won't see their beautiful happy faces, or hear the contagious laugh of my little brother, or get to hear the angelic sound of my mother singing as she cooked us all breakfast every morning. I can no longer feel the warmth or security of my father's strong arms as he hugged me goodbye every single morning before work, I even miss the few childhood friends I left behind. I still enjoy the dreams, I just dread waking up to my reality, so badly wishing I could live in the moments I treasured the most.

My eyes flitter open painfully, startled by the loud banging coming from the other side of the timber bedroom door, rudely yanking me from the dream stemming from one of my favourite childhood memories. You would think by now I would be use to the rude awakening since this is our usual routine throughout the week. A single carer bearing the burden of waking the sleeping children and teenagers residing within the crowded care home, a place all unwanted children seem to end up within. I am no exception.

"HARLEY! GET THE FUCK UP!" Caleb screams, standing on the other side of my locked bedroom door, clearly already pissed off before the morning has really started.

"I'M UP!" I scream back, rolling my eyes as I hear footsteps lead away from the timber door of my crumbling bedroom.

I groan lazily, staring at the ceiling above me and counting out the cracks that line the yellowed roof. The once white ceiling a yellowed colour due to the last foster kid smoking within the small dirt filled room, staining the white Walls and ceiling an awful looking yellow. I sigh, dragging my sleep filled and sore body out from under the warmth of the daggy old quilt thrown over the stained mattress. I stand to my feet, the floor boards squeaking loudly under the pressure of my weight. I yawn, stretching out my stiff limps, receiving the movement back in my otherwise numb limbs.

I snatch my tatty old towel off the hook on the back of my solid timber door, allowing my bare feet to pad against the old creaking floor boards. I take a deep breath, wrapping my fingers around the door handle and unlocking the door to allow me to exit my own bedroom. I yank the door open viciously, jolting my shoulder as it sticks momentarily on a bowed floor board. I close the door behind myself, stepping out into the bustling hallway and making my way into the bathroom a few doors down.

I slip inside the surprisingly empty bathroom, slamming the door shut and locking it behind myself. I run my tongue over my chapped lips, I move over to where a loose tile beside the bathroom counter hides one of my biggest secrets. I drop down to my knees, extending out my trembling hand to allow my nimble fingers to lift up the loose tile, revealing the razor blade that had laid hidden. The silver metal shining under the glare of the bathroom light bulb, a sight that draws me in easily as my fingers fumble to pick up the sharp object.

I strip my sweat filled clothing from my body, throwing the clothes into the already full hamper. The exposed skin of my naked body trembles, goosebumps settling over my naturally tan skin, shivering under the cool breeze brought by the brick building. I slide down the side of the bathtub, pressing my back into the cold tiles painfully as I spin the sharp metal blade between my fingers. I fall into a trance like state, my gaze firmly held on the sharp object causing my heart to beat wildly inside my chest, slamming against my rib cage painfully.

I inhale a sharp mouthful of oxygen, slashing away at the tender and scarred skin of my inner forearm, ripping the skin apart, watching droplets of blood form after every single cut I make. Tears brim my eyes, blurring my vision as they fall freely down my cheeks, a low whimper tumbling from my trembling lips. I carefully place the blood stained metal blade back into its hiding spot, placing the removable tile back over the object that caused the damage to the tender skin. My secret once again hidden, the object forgotten as I stand on my unsteady legs. I climb into the shower, watching the blood trickle down my arm as I use my other hand to reach forward, turning on the taps. A stream of boiling hot water cascades down over my trembling body, washing away the blood from my mutilated limb like it never existed.

I sigh contently as my body adjusts to the temperature of the water beating down over me, calming my racing heart. I move to wash out my dyed lock of blonde hair, smiling proudly at the dip dyed electric blue ends that stop just below my boobs. The heated streams of water calm my tightened muscles, loosening the stress filled knots in my shoulders painlessly. I run the bar of soap over my dripping wet body, scrubbing away the dirt that coats my naturally tanned body from the previous day, wincing as I press against a patch of bruise skin.

I sigh dramatically, ceasing the heat stream of water from cascading down over my body perfectly, missing the warmth the liquid brought. I step out the shower and onto the slippery tiles, nearly losing my balance multiple times as I reach for my tatty old towel. I carefully wipe the droplets of water from my body, avoiding the sensitive skin that is either covered in blackish blue bruises or violent looking self inflicted wounds covering my body. I run the already soaked towel over my dripping locks of hair, attempting to try to dry it to the best of my ability, giving up when goosebumps rise over my exposed body.

I wrap the stained tatty old towel tightly around my body, taking a deep breath and unlocking the bathroom door. I violently throw the timber door open, bolting down the hallway, avoiding the children who line the hallway as chatter sits in the air. I shove open my bedroom door, slamming it shut behind myself, locking it before anyone could come bursting into my safe haven without warning. I scurry across the room to my wardrobe, it's an old double door solid oak one but it's missing both the doors, no surprise really. I throw on matching bra and underwear set, wrapping the towel around my still wet locks of hair, searching through my limited amount of clothing for an outfit to wear.

I slip on my favourite pair of skinny jeans, even though they are majorly faded. I pull on a band tee, throwing on a baggy black hoodie and sliding on an odd pair of socks, protecting my feet from the cold chill seeping through the creaky old floor boards. I search my room, attempting to find the only pair of shoes I own, silently cursing myself out at misplacing the most important item of clothing. I locate my shoes under a pile of dirty clothes, yanking on the slightly too small faded Converses onto my sock covered feet, wincing in pain as my toes cramp instantly.

I stuck in a few deep breaths, ignoring the pain shooting up my legs, indicting my feet utter distress. I grab my blow dryer and hair straightener off the floor beside my bed, making my way down the now empty hallway to the bathroom. I plug in both items, running a brush through my hair and painfully yanking the knots from my long locks of hair. I move on to blow drying it and straightening it immediately, dealing with my own hair that proves to hate me most morning to my own distaste.

Once my hair sits perfectly, I move to apply the heavy lays of make up to my face, using a thick layer of eye liner to bring out the richness to my chocolate brown orbs. I look myself over in the mirror multiple times, adjusting either my hair or make up until I consider it perfect. I exit the bathroom, walking back to my bedroom to finish getting ready.

I snatch my crappy knock off iPhone from under my pillow, shoving it into the front pocket of my quickly deteriorating backpack, carefully reaching for my MP3 player that holds the songs to help keep me somewhat sane, shoving the precious item into the pocket of my hoodie. The MP3 player being a beloved gift from a close friend, he gave it me a week before he was sentenced to a juvenile detention facility to my dismay.

I shake my head, clearing my haze filled mind of the memories that blur my vision. I pull on the nearly broken backpack, picking up my skateboard from where it was last discarded beside my door frame. My rich chocolate brown orbs scan my pathetic excuse for a bedroom, searching for anything valuable I might have forgotten, coming up empty and proceeding to leave the safety of my bedroom. I close the door behind myself, sucking in a deep breath and heading downstairs through the snide comments of the multiple other teenagers who call this care home their home too.

Rachel is probably the worst, she will do anything to abuse me both emotionally and physically. But if that isn't enough, she uses her little clicks group of stupid girls to attack me, instructing them to hold me down whilst she beats the shit out of me, or encourages them to throw around degrading remarks. It doesn't change, it's always the same stuck up bitch who thinks she is better than me, even though she is one of the thousands of children rotting away in this stupid welfare system.

This morning is no different to every other lousy one, Rachel waits for me as I descend the stairs, moving to attempt to trip me without prevailing, thank god! She hisses, annoyed at her failed attempt to cause me harm and probably the proud smirk sitting perfectly on my lipstick covered lips. Her hatred toward me wins, she moves to use her words to harm my already dangerously abused emotions.

"Oh, look here. The fat whore has arrived," she chuckles, smirking proudly. "Are you gonna go pig out, fat slut?"

I suck in a sharp breath, tears brimming in my make up framed eyes painfully. I bite down on my bottom lip viciously, attempting to stop the tears that threaten to spill at any given moment, trying to suppress the unbearable emotional pain that causes through my veins. I turn on my heels, bolting out the front door as their laughter burns deeply into my brain, threatening to drive me insane. I shake my head viciously in an attempt to clear the raging thoughts inside my already fucked up head, refusing to let her words to get to me, knowing they already have but avoiding admitting the truth for my own sanity.

My feet pad against the pavement, propelling me forward down the street, blocks away from the place I have no choice in calling my home. I have no idea where I'm going, I don't really care as long as it's far away from that fucked up place. I need to clear my mind, erasing my worries just for awhile and allowing my reality to fall away. I can't keep doing this, it's too fucking hard and I don't want to live like this, but it's all I know now.

I look up, pulling myself from the trance like state of being trapped in my own mind, finding myself staring at the skate park a few blocks away. It has become one of my favourite places, an escape but not only that, a place where I can freely drink alcohol with a few of the older guys that spend their days here. They don't know my past, nor do they know my present, something I have craved since I lost everything. It's a safe haven.

I throw down my skateboard, stepping onto the wooden board and propelling myself forward. I join a few of the guys sitting around the concrete park, throwing my backpack down in the growing pile, moving to guide the board over the obstacles. I enjoy the breeze the whips at my face, blowing my hair backwards due to the pressure, making me feel alive.

Time flies by without any realisation, three hours having past by without my knowledge, a genuine smile etched into my chapped lipstick covered lips. I sit close legged in a circle with multiple guys, all of them older than myself. We pass around a bottle of vodka, each of us taking a swig of the burning liquor, coughing as it slips painfully down our throats. I pass the half empty glass bottle on, the warmth pulsing through my veins, my mind in an alcohol fuelled haze. A smirk slipped onto my lips, my body and mind buzzing amazingly, I feel amazing!

The wicked buzz is short lived, rudely destroyed by the presences of the last person I want to see. A woman in her late twenties with wavy golden locks of blonde hair, ocean blue orbs and a curve filled body moves across the parking lot. I would know her anywhere, she is one of the few care workers at the home who actually cares about the unwanted children lost in the system, she cares about us. She unfortunately is one sent out to find me, the school having let carers within the run down care home know of my absence. I feel bad for her, knowing she spends hours looking for me just to deliver to me school despite my protest.

"HARLEY DEVONNE SOPHIA RAIDEN! GET IN THE CAR, NOW!" She yells frustrated, drawing not only my attention but everyone else's too.

"B-But I don't wanna," I whine, refusing to budge from my current position.

"I don't care!" She says through gritted teeth, moving to yell. "I SWEAR TO GOD IF I DON'T HAVE YOU BACK AT THE HOUSE IN 15 MINUTES, KAYLA WILL MAKE SURE YOU REGRET DITCHING!"

I groan defeated, I unsteadily stand to my feet, knowing how deadly serious she is about the implied punishment. I yank my backpack viciously from the pile, throwing it over my shoulder and picking up my skateboard, chucking it under my armpit to hold the wooden form of transport. I mutter 'goodbye' to the staring males, climbing down to join the impatiently waiting woman I fondly call Ellie. I drag my feet dramatically, rolling my eyes and trailing behind the older woman leading us to where her car sits in the parking lot.

I climb into the passenger seat, buckling up my seat belt, crossing my arms across my torso and huffing dramatically. She rolls her eyes, starting up the fancy government funded vehicle, reversing out the parking space in the fairly empty parking lot. She presses her foot heavily against the gas peddle, the vehicle bolting forward, speeding down the back streets breaking the speed limit easily. I reach forward, turning on the radio to take in the angelic sound of Titanium by David Guetta, causing a face eating grin to take over my facial features.

I hum along, refusing to allow my voice to combine with the music. After the heartbreaking car crash that claimed the life of my parents and baby brother Oliver, I made a promise that I would never sing again, throwing away my dream of following my musical ability. It is a promise I made because of the unbearable pain in that moment, it was something that reminded me constantly of what I had lost.

I shake my head, clearing the haze filling my mind as we pull into the driveway of the care home I begrudging call my home. The last line of Titanium rips through the silence, the hair on the back of my neck standing up. I grab my degrading backpack from where I had dumped it on the passenger side floor, slipping the straps up to my shoulders and climbing out the surprisingly fancy government funded vehicle. I slam the door shut begrudgingly, dramatically crossing my arms protectively over my torso, allowing the older ocean orbed woman to grip my shoulders securely, dragging my feet anxiously as she guides me inside the crumbling building I unfortunately have no choice in calling my home legally. My mind is hazy, my breathing rapid, my heart racing, slamming against my rib cages in anticipation of the punishment yet to be delivered to me, knowing it could be physical blows to my body like multiple times before.

I come face to face with a clearly pissed off woman I know very well, her charcoal orbs raging with anger and frustration, her slit end filled locks of Raven hair pulled back into a neat pony tail. I watch her fists ball at her sides, knowing quite well the impact produced by those fists. Ellie shrinks back, trying to make herself as small as possible under the rage filled gaze of her supervisor.

"WHERE THE FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN HARLEY!" Kayla screams, stepping closer to my already trembling form, intimidating me easily.

I shrug, knowing she doesn't care for my expected answer, she never has before. A balled fist with a great force behind it connects with my already tender abdomen, knocking the oxygen out of my lungs easily causing me to cough loudly. I grab at my stomach, refusing to fall to the floor, allowing myself to become vulnerable. Her rage filled charcoal orbs move their gaze from my pain filled body to the ocean orbed worker.

"Ellie?" She snaps, gritting her teeth.

I push away the tears brimming my make up framed rich chocolate orbs, my gaze moving to take in the situation unfolding before my eyes. I watch the normally bubbly woman in her late twenties look like a deer caught in head lights, shrinking back into herself, gripping my shoulders a little tighter in fear. I wouldn't put it past Kayla to deliver a strong fist to the terrified worker.

"Y-Yeah?" She stutters, refusing to make eye contact with the charcoal orbs of rage filled supervisor.

"I will ask you only once, where was she?" Kayla questions, implying a genuine threat through gritted teeth, clenching her fists at her sides, impatiently waiting for the answer to her question.

Ellie swallows the lump in her throat, moving her gaze to stare at her shoe covered feet, "The, uh, sk-skate park.."

I sigh terrified, leaning backwards into the firm grip on my shoulders, awaiting another painful blow to my already battered and bruised body. I exhale thankfully when the expected blow never comes, my heart still slamming against my rib cage, my breathing rapid under the pressure of my racing pulse. Ellie guides me back out the crumbling building of the pathetic excuse of care home, helping me into the passenger seat due to the pain radiating out of my abdomen, buckling me in before rounding the front of her fancy government funded vehicle. She slides into the drivers seat, starting up the shiny black government funded vehicle with its tinted windows, reversing out the driveway and taking off down the street with her foot pressed firmly against the gas peddle.

It only takes ten minutes to arrive in the parking lot of the over run public high school, a large building bumbling with students of all ages filed with raging hormones, I fondly call this place my own personal hell. All the unwanted foster children belonging to the system shoved into this dump of a government high school, meaning Rachel one of my beloved tormentors also attends this pathetic place. I sigh, yanking my backpack off the floor violently and retrieving my skateboard from the back seat, climbing out tinted vehicle. I slam the door shut dramatically, sliding the straps up to my shoulders and crossing my arms securely around my pain filled torso.

"I'm walking you to the office to make sure you actually attend," Ellie says sternly, gripping my shoulders and guiding me towards the front double doors of the hell hole.

I roll my eyes, dragging my feet against the cement covering the parking lot, nearly losing my balance multiple times. I trip up the stairs, silently thanking the ocean orbed woman for stopping my bruised body from colliding with the ground. We make it inside, my feet padding against the slippery surface of the hallway floors, moving slowly towards the office a few feet away. We arrive to find the unsurprised receptionist behind the desk, her eyes only gazing up to take in my presences for a moment, rolling her eyes and handing the sign in clip board to the golden locked, ocean orbed care worker. Ellie writes my information down, signing me in with some dumb excuse for my absence throughout the morning classes.

I roll my eyes, shaking my head and making my way down the empty hallways, shoving my earphones in and blasting the angelic sound of 'Fallen Angels' by Black Veil Brides. A few people ditching their classes linger in the otherwise empty corridors, throwing snide comments as I pass but my focus is on the perfect voice of Andy Biersack and his glorious band. I keep walking despite the pain radiating from my probably already bruised abdomen, hanging my head to avoid making eye contact with anyone I pass.

I turn the corner, walking along the hallway that are lined with lockers against the walls. I stop at my own locker, unlocking the metal storage place with a groan tumbling from my slightly parted lips. I feel a pressure on my shoulder, violently throwing me backwards into a wall of lockers, my earphones being yanked from my ears painfully as I fall to the ground with a string of swear words slipping past my lips unintentionally.

I grit my teeth, scrambling to shove my prized MP3 player into the pocket of my skinny jeans that bring some safety to the device. I groan at the pain radiating around my body, all my limbs aching painfully and my ass now numb. I move my gaze up to the person who's body is towering over my battered and bruised one, meeting the wicked gaze of my constant tormentor who smirks proudly down at me. She stands towering over me easily, her fist clenching at her sides as Taylor, Jade and Misty crowd around behind her, all of them laughing at the torment being inflicted upon me.

"You are just a fat slut who should just kill herself already!" She screams in my face, her words cutting into my heart like knives, her feet connecting viciously with my clothing cover body harshly.

Rachel urges her pathetically cowardice friends to join the assault, their feet violently connecting with my already battered and bruised body. I grit my teeth, pathetically whimpering under the utter brutal force of their sickening blows to my body, using my arms to shield my head at all costs. There is no escape from the brutal force, my pleads for their actions to cease going unanswered, ignored by the pleasure the four teenage girls get from beating me senseless.

"Oi!" A voice yells, echoing throughout the emptied hallways.

The constant pain filled blows ceases, the sound of multiple pairs of feet padding against the slippery hallway floor, fleeing from the scene of their crime. I sigh in relief, thanking god for saving me from the overwhelming torment, praising the teacher who came to my rescue. I remove my arms from their protective spot around my face, sucking in a sharp shallow breath and rolling onto my back in severe agony. I grit my teeth, urging my body to get the fuck up and stand on my own two unsteady feet. My body refuses to budge, leaving me bloodied on the slippery surface of the pathetic excuse of a high school, silently asking god what I did to deserve this.

I pry my eyes open, meeting the worried gaze of caring emerald orbs of a woman in her mid twenties. I know the caring woman, she's one of the art teachers, she started at the beginning of the school year. Miss Thomas just happens to be my third period art teacher, she rules her classes with a stern warning given and a consequence if any of her student step out of line. No of the teenagers here mess with her, they know better. Despite my rebellious nature and troublesome ways, she took an instant liking to me without a single hesitation. It is kind of refreshing in many ways, to have someone who has faith in your abilities and cares about your overall wellbeing in this crappy world.

The emerald orbed teacher extends her hand down towards me, gesturing for me to take the extended limb to allow her to hoist me to my unsteady feet. I stare at her extended hand, pleading with my aching arms to reach for her polite gesture. I watch her gaze scan over my probably bruised face and busted lip, a grimacing look appearing in her emerald orbs, silently telling me I look pretty beaten up. I reach for her with my trembling hands, her grip tightening around my bloodied hands and pulling me to my unsteady feet. My legs threaten to buckle under the weight of my body, my knees wobbling as my head spins in a dizzy spell.

"What happened, Harley?" She questions, concern riddling her facial features, worry flooding her intriguing emerald orbs.

"Nothing. It was just a misunderstanding," I lie effortlessly, avoiding the worried gaze of my favourite teacher in this hell hole of a government funded high school.

"Fine, but I will walk you to class. You don't deserve to get in anymore trouble today," she says softly, gripping my upper arm and leading me down the hallway towards my English class at the end of the corridor.

We walk in an awkward silence, Miss Thomas helping support my weight, allowing me to hobble down the hallway towards to dreaded English classroom. I use the sleeve of my hoodie to wipe the blood from my face, suppressing the pain filled whimpers that threaten to fall from my lips. I grip the door handle, shrugging off her grip and pushing open the flimsy classroom door. I step inside the crowded classroom, every students gaze fixating on me and snide comments being whispered between the hormonal teenagers. Mr Hobbs hushes the class, instruct them to go on with the given assignment and turning his attention to my late arrival to displeasure.

"It's nice of you to finally join us, Miss Raiden," Mr Hobbs remarks displeased, staring at me over the frames of his old styled glasses.

"I'm sorry Mr Hobbs, I needed to steal Miss Raiden away for a chat. It would happen again," Miss Thomas explains, showing off her award winning smile and pearly whites.

"That's okay, Miss Thomas. Thank you for ensuring Miss Raiden made it safely to my class," he acknowledged, smiling softly at the younger woman in her mid twenties.

She smiles back widely, bidding the older man in his late fifties goodbye and closing the flimsy classroom door as she exits. The older man turns his attention back towards me displeased, instructing me to take my seat at the back of the already crowded classroom seating arrangement. I roll my eyes, mumbling a smartass remark under my breath, dragging my aching body to an empty seat in the back right hand corner. I dump my withering backpack on the floor beside my desk, sliding into the seat positioned perfectly behind the rickety old wooden desk. I slip my MP3 player from the pocket of my jeans, shoving my earphones into my ears as _'Roger Rabbit_ ' by Sleeping With Sirens plays perfectly, Kellin Quinn's glorious voice drawing me, allowing my mind to wonder as I fall into a trance like state, blocking out the whole world.

I slip out my sketch pad from the safety of my backpack, opening it to a blank page and guiding the led pencil held firmly in my grip over the clear surface. I lose myself, creating a drawing from a pleasure filled memory from my childhood, remembering the moments I miss the most that blur my vision. I don't notice the students filing out the classroom, the normal chatter filled room blocked out by the angelic sound of _'The Last Night'_ by Skillet, my gaze focused purely on the drawing scribbled across the page effortlessly.

I move my gaze upwards, capturing a glimpse of the quickly emptying classroom to my dismay. I rip my earphones out, shoving the MP3 player into the pocket of my hoodie, slipping my sketch pad back into the safety of my tatty old backpack. I stand to my unsteady feet, yanking my bag off the floor and slipping it onto my shoulders, exiting the now vacant classroom. My feet pad against the slippery surface of the hallway floors, disappearing into the crowd of hormonal teenagers trying to escape this hell hole they fondly call high school.

I make it outside the slowly crumbling building, stumbling down the front steps of the ageing shit hole of a government funded high school. I slip my skateboard out of my backpack, throwing it to the ground with a small thud, stepping onto the anti slip covered surface of the wooden board, propelling myself forward down the bump filled pavement. I avoid the people that line the footpath, speeding down the street heading towards the place I unfortunately call my home, not temping the known consequences for failing to arrive home from school.

It takes ten minutes at arrive at the ancient building of the government funded care home, I pick up my skateboard and heading towards the open front door of the pathetic excused of a home environment. I drag my feet passing the thresh hold, the floor boards creaking under the pressure of my weight, everyone's gaze finding me and snide remarks floating around in the chatter filled foyer. My presents doesn't go unnoticed by the care workers or my constant tormentors, the same one leader knocks me to ground and laughing at my misfortune she created, delivering a swift kick to my already battered and bruised ribs. Kayla stands there smirking, watching the physical abuse unfold, never intervening or stop the uncalled for attack on me, she finds join in the pain inflicted upon others. I plead for help, begging my biggest bully to stop the assault on my already beaten body, silently praying to God to save me or kill me.

My name is Harley Devonne Sophia Raiden, I am one of the many children lost in the foster system, unwanted responsibility no one wants. I am treated badly but multiple people, my abuse going unreported on a daily basis as I can't help but consider taking my own life.

 _I'm Harley and this is the story of my life._


	2. Chapter 1

**Harley's POV:**

A flurry of memories evade my mind, turning from moments of pure happiness to disaster as my beloved memories turns to a horrifying nightmare. My chest muscles pull tight, making it hard to breath as my heart pounds painfully against my rib cage and a line of sweat appears on my brow. I whimper terrified of the nightmare taking over my vision, causing me to squirm in discomfort under the material of the stained quilt covering my sweaty body.

A loud bang against my solid timber door scares the shit out of me, causing my eyes to flutter open, my body jolting into a sitting position as my heart races in my tightened chest. I pant, desperately sucking in shallow breaths to fill my otherwise oxygen deprived lungs, a sharp pain radiating from the oxygen deprived organ inside my chest.

"Harley! It's time to get up," Jessica yells, excitement lacing her tone.

"I'm up!" I scream back, rolling my eyes and planning out her murder in my own mind.

"It's adoption day, so make sure you look presentable," she remarks, her footsteps retreating away from the other side of my locked bedroom door.

I groan loudly, hating Saturday's the most out of the week, it's adoption day meaning we have to be paraded around in front of the people who walk through the doors. The only thing that brings something somewhat good to this horrible situation is knowing two of the most caring care workers are the only ones working the weekends. Jessica is one of the two, she is a woman in her mid twenties with hazel orbs, mousy brown locks of naturally straight hair and an athletes rocking body. Ellie just happens to be the second one forced into working the weekends, I don't mind though due to the fact she holds a soft spot for me, and as long as they are working the weekends none of the children inside the care home get beaten, or are allowed to beat each other.

I sigh, removing the quilt covering my sweaty body and swinging my legs over the side of the stain filled mattress of my single bed. I stretch out my stiff limbs, my muscles aching painfully as my feet touch the freezing cold floor boards, a slight breeze slipping up under the rotting out flooring. I stand to my feet, the floor boards creaking loudly under the pressure of my weight, like every other morning. I slip my thumbs into the holes I made in the sleeves of one of my tatty old hoodies, I snatch my towel off the hook on the back of my door and exiting my bedroom. I'm in desperate need of a hot shower, needing to scrub the dirt and sweat from my tanned skin, the heat might even loosen the stiffened of my muscles.

My feet pad against the rotting floor boards of the upstairs hallway, slipping into the surprisingly empty bathroom a few doors down from my pathetic excuse of a bedroom. I lock the sturdy timber door carefully behind myself, stripping my sweat soaked clothing from my dirt covered tan skin and dumping the clothing in the already over flowing hamper in the opposite corner, across from the toilet.

I allow my gaze to take in the severely bruised skin of my abdomen, the blackish blue bruising stretches over the skin covering my most likely fractured rib cage, blackish blue patches of bruises making up 75% of my body. Scars and freshly self inflicted wounds covering my arms and thighs, a depressive reminder of the demons that live inside my head, the ugly truth about my reality scarred upon the canvas I call my body. Tears pool in my eyes, my body trembling as goosebumps rise over my tanned skin and my legs threaten to give out from under me in exhaustion.

I drop to my hands and knees, kneeling on the sharp edges of broken tiles that line the severely damaged flooring of the bathroom, removing the broken tile that hides my secret, a small metal razor blade laying there calling my name. I shallow the massive lump in my throat, my trembling fingers reaching for the sharp object hesitantly. My finger tips lightly grazing over the cold metal object, sucking in a sharp intake of oxygen, my heart pounding in my tightened chest and my pulse racing as I snatch the razor blade from its secluded hiding spot.

I sit cross legged, ignoring the pain caused by the sharp edges of the broken tiles digging into the exposed skin of the lower half of my body. I bite down painfully on my lower lip, spinning the cold metal blade between my fingers, fixating on the sharp object as the demons that live inside my mind urge me to inflict damage to my own body. Tears cascade down my cheeks freely, my trembling hand lowering the razor sharp object closer to my already scarred tan skin of my fat thighs, sucking in a sharp intake of oxygen as I swipe the sharp edge eagerly across the flabby skin. I repeat my actions over and over, blood trickling down my legs in a horrible sight to witness.

I carefully place the sharp metal object into the secluded hiding place, placing the broken tile back in place, forgetting about it the moment the moment the blade is hidden away once again. I drag my pain filled body off the cold tiled floor, climbing into the shower with blood dripping from the self inflicted wounds on my upper thighs, turning on the taps to allow the burning hot streams of water to cascade down over my goosebumps covered tan skin. I groan, the wounds stinging and the bruises aching painfully, I grit my teeth in an effort to stop the weak whimpers from tumbling out from trembling lips. I wash out my long locks of mainly blonde hair, running a bar of soap over my sticky body covered in sweat, wincing at the tender skin of my abdomen and rib cage.

I spend a good half an hour with streams of heated water beating down on my exposed body, the boiling hot liquid easing the stiffness of my muscles and warming my tanned skin. I ignore the constant banging on the sturdy timber door, continuing to try to evade the inevitable of having to head downstairs for adoption day. I sigh, shutting off the water to allow the cold to whip away at the exposed skin, the droplets of water coating my tanned skin mixed with the chill cause goosebumps to rise over my whole body. I shiver, snatching my tatty old towel to wipe away droplets of water from my goose bump ridden body, running the tatty material over my blonde locks of hair and wrapping the towel around my naked body.

I click the lock on the sturdy timber door, opening the door just a crack to peer out into the empty hallway, thanking God for the non existence of any human life lingering in the upstairs hallway. I throw the door open, bolting out the bathroom, the pressure of my feet padding against the timber floor boards causing them to creak loudly under the weight of my body. I slam my bedroom door shut behind myself, clicking the lock closed to stop the younger nosy foster children from wondering in.

My feet pad against the rotting out floor boards, carrying me across the room to my rickety old door less wardrobe, searching through my limited range of clothing for the items I want to wear. I slip on my matching bra and underwear set, throwing on a long sleeve top and a faded old band tee. I slide on a pair of faded old skinny jeans with worn holes in the knees, pulling a pair off odd socks before my hole ridden faded converses that are at least two sizes too small.

I hang up my soaked towel, unlocking my solid timber door and walking down the abandoned upstairs hallway, slipping inside the also surprisingly empty bathroom. I move to blow dry my blonde locks of tangled hair, straightening the wavy filled locks of my blonde hair and electric blue ends, applying a heavy layer of make up to cover my bruised facial features. Despite the make up or the clothing covering my body, I can't help but hate myself and everything that makes me the person I am. It's hard to love yourself when multiple amounts of people break you down, crushing your soul and pointing out the flaws I already know lay within me. How can you love yourself, when everyone around you holds a major hatred towards you?

I shake my head in an attempt to clear my raging mind, exiting the bathroom to head back to the safety of my bedroom. I close the door behind myself, leaving the solid timber door unlocked, retrieving my MP3 player and sketch pad from the safety of my worn out backpack. I sit cross legged on the window seal, shoving my earphones in and opening up my beloved sketch pad to a blank page, gripping the led pencil in my hand tightly, guiding it over the page effortlessly.

I press play on my treasured MP3 player, the sound of Layla Brooklyn Allman's voice sending shivers down my spine, her voice an angelic sound in my opinion. I hum along, focusing only on the sound of her purely amazing voice and the page the pencil held firmly in my grip grazes over easily, creating a photograph like image from a memory of my childhood.

 _"Hey dear_

 _I fear_

 _I'll watch you disappear_

 _I know_

 _You'll go_

 _Until you're Skin and Bones_

 _Your reflection's all you're worth_

 _This time it's almost over_

 _I watch you turn to dust_

 _I know it's not much longer_

 _Until you faint_

 _'Cause you'll never love yourself at all_

 _'Cause everything you touch will fall to pieces_

 _This time it's almost over now_

 _Wake up skin and bones (wake up)_

 _Wake up skin and bones (wake up)_

 _You're so alone_

 _Your sickness feels like home_

 _Find some control_

 _Starve 'till you're beautiful_

 _Your reflection's all you're worth_

 _This time it's almost over_

 _I watch you turn to dust_

 _I know it's not much longer_

 _Until you faint_

 _'Cause you'll never love yourself at all_

 _'Cause everything you touch will fall to pieces_

 _This time it's almost over now -"_

A grin slips onto my lips, grazing the pencil across the sketch pad effortlessly as the loving eyes of my mother come to life on the page before me. A beaming smile plays on my lips, a warm feeling filling my chest at the sigh of her eyes staring back at me. I flinch, startled by the strong grip yanking my beloved sketch pad from my hands, a frown forming instantly on my brow as I reach for my possession. My gaze meets ocean orbs, halting my movements knowing what her presences means, there is no way of saving the sketch pad unless I follow her stern instructions.

I yank my earphones out, ceasing the music coming from the treasured device and shoving it into the pocket of my jeans. I turn my attention to the older woman in her late twenties, silently in my mind planning out multiple ways to kill her, even though I could never physically harm Ellie, like ever! Her ocean orbs meet my gaze softly, an apologetic smile settles on her lip gloss covered lips. I sigh, taking in the caring posture of the older woman in her late twenties who has looked out for me in the multiple years I have been here.

"There is a few people downstairs here ready to adopt, I really think you have a chance this time. I want you to come downstairs and interact with the people who could potentially want to adopt or even foster you," Ellie pleads, attempting to convince me.

I groan, "Fine."

I snatch my sketch pad from her firm grip, stashing it under my stain filled mattress to protect the beloved sketches inside from the grubby fingers of the younger kids. I slip my crappy phone into the back pocket of my jeans, kicking my tatty old backpack under the steel single bed frame. I turn around to find the ocean orbed care worker has disappeared, leaving me standing alone in my somewhat clean bedroom. I sigh, exiting my pathetic excuse of a bedroom in this run down government funded care home for the unwanted children lost in the system, dragging my feet as I take my time heading downstairs. The sound of voices chattering loudly fill my ears, I internally groan as children run past the staircase squealing at the top of their lungs to the displeasure of my ear drums.

I head in search of the older ocean orbed woman, figuring she would be in the dinning hall like most mornings on the weekends. I round the corner, narrowly avoiding colliding with a ten year old hyped up on sugar, cursing swiftly under my breath and continuing to enter the biggest room in the thick brick building. My heart starts to race at the sight of my torments sitting at a table a few feet away, her cowardice friends sitting around her, laughing at whatever stupid thing comes out of her foul mouth. I come close to suffering a panic attack, my chest tightening as my anxiety sets in at just the sight of her across the room from where I stand.

I stand frozen in place, sucking in sharp shallow breaths as my hands tremble at my sides. I bite down on my lip painfully hard, my gaze scanning the room for the ocean orbed care worker I was searching for. I spot her walking towards me with a beaming smile pulled firmly onto her lips, she's accompanied by a rich chocolate orbed woman, naturally brunette locks of thick wavy hair, a slim but curvy body and tattoos lining the exposed skin of her tanned skin. A beaming smile also sits on her lipstick covered lips, her rich chocolate brown orbs looking around with pure excitement radiating around in them.

They come to stand before me, halting and taking in my shrinking form, feeling extremely uncomfortable under the gaze of both the older women. I attempt to disappear, slouching against the rotting out door frame, refusing to acknowledge their presences, praying for them to just walk away.

"Are you okay?" The unfamiliar woman questions, meeting my gaze with her perfectly shaped eye brow slightly raised.

I drop my gaze to the bowing floor boards, nipping at the side of my cheek painfully and playing with the tatty ends of my long sleeved top. I refuse to acknowledge her or the unwanted question, ignoring the awkward tension that falls over the three of us.

"I'm sorry, she isn't really a morning person. But that is no excuse for Harley to be rude," Ellie apologises, taking a dig at my abrupt and pathetic excuse of avoidance from being forced to interact.

"That's okay," the unfamiliar beams, waving off the older care workers apology.

"Harley here, she is sort of shy. She prefers to spend her weekends locked in her room to avoid the younger kids we also house here," Ellie explains, describing me from her knowledge to the unfamiliar woman.

"I don't blame her, it must be hard dealing with so many children of different ages," she remarks back, justifying my rude and abrupt behaviour.

"We'll Miss Lovato, I believe Harley would love to show you around our facility to make up for her rudeness," Ellie urges, drawing my attention and discreetly punishing me for my behaviour.

I roll my eyes, mumbling a response and silently cursing out the ocean orbed woman for her choice of punishment. I don't really fancy showing a famous superstar singer around, it is a waste of my time and the spot light it puts me under when it comes to the multiple tormentors of mine that occupy this pathetic excuse of a government funded care home. I listen to the foot steps of the care home worker retreating away, leaving me alone with the beautiful woman who's gaze is firmly held on me. I sigh, allowing my gaze to meet the same woman who's posters use to line the walls of childhood my bedroom, remembering the hours I use to spend singing along to the stupid _'Camp Rock_ ' soundtrack.

I don't have to be a genius to know the rich chocolate orbed singer will pick out one of the adorable youngsters that call this horrid place home. I don't blame anyone from avoiding the teenagers, majority of us having grown up in the foster system from a young age and holding so many problems no family wants to have to deal with. I may have grown up with a loving family, but even I hold a file that forces people to rethink taking a chance on me, I don't blame them, I have done some pretty stupid shit and got caught.

"Uh, hi," I mumble, crossing my arms protectively and dramatically over my torso.

"Hi Harley, I'm Demi," she says softly, introducing herself with a beaming smile, capturing my gaze spectacularly,

"I know," I reply bluntly, refusing to make conversation with the probably ungrateful superstar.

I turn on my heels, dragging my feet against the rotting out floor board and gesturing for the older chocolate orbed woman to follow behind me. She smiles softly, moving to step into stride with me, entering the large metal kitchen positioned at the back of the dinning area. The kitchen and dinning area are places I avoid, I rarely eating the shitty ass food they cook most days, having been labeled an ungrateful bitch by the supervisor of this abuse filled care home. I take in the presence of the same worker in her mid twenties that rudely woke me up earlier, knowing full well that this is where she spends most of her days during the week.

"This is our kitchen and that's Jessica, she is one of the workers that prepares the food daily for us," I inform, refusing to meet the gaze of either of the women who's gaze lands firmly on me.

Jessica nods softly, acknowledging the famous singer positioned beside me, continuing to move around the massive kitchen. I turn on my heels, walking back through the now empty dinning area, chairs sitting abandoned around the trashed area, rubbishy lining the tables and floor. I roll my eyes, dragging my feet as I guide us into the bustling lounge room. A group of about twenty kids squeeze into the small area, all of them under the age of ten, their eyes glued to the TV screen as cartoons play loudly.

"This is our extremely small living room. Majority of the time you will find the younger kids watching TV in here after school or on the weekends. Everyone of the kids in here are aged between ten and three years of age " I inform, gesturing to the children lining the two couches and the carpeted floor.

"Do you have any younger kids here?" Demi questions, raising her perfectly shaped eye brow.

"No, this care home doesn't take in an child under the age of three years old. We rarely have three or four years olds placed here and when we do it doesn't take long for them to be adopted, or fostered out to a proper home."

"Well, all the kids in here are beyond adorable!" Demi coos, her rich chocolate brown orbs glazing over with excitement, her gaze fixated on the sugar filled children.

"Not so cute when they destroy the few things you actually have," I mumbles softly, rolling my eyes at the predictable famous singer.

I turn on my heels, leading the excitable older woman out the back sliding door, bring us into the surprisingly large backyard of the pathetic excuse of a government funded care home, the place all the unwanted children in the system are dumped. Children of multiple ages play on the massive metal playground, a grassed area off to the side of the massive playground holds a range of teenagers sitting in a circle, laughing loudly and singing along to music playing out the portable speakers connected to one of their phones or iPods.

"That's the playground, it's one of the spots you will find the sugar hyped children playing," I sigh, motioning to the massive coloured metal playground, moving to gesture to the group of teenagers as I speak, "There is where the teenagers hang out majority of the time. The only other place you will find them is hanging out in their rooms to avoid the hyperactive younger kids that live here."

"Is that why you hide away in your room?" She asks softly, curiosity swirling around in her rich chocolate coloured orbs.

I sigh, "Something like that."

I make my way back inside, making my way upstairs with the famous singer stuck to my side, the staircase creaking under the pressure of our weight. I silently home they don't break, knowing most of the flooring in this building is slowly rotting out and could easily break at any moment. We make upstairs, the hallway splitting into two sections, the one to the right holds the rooms the younger children call their bedrooms, majority of the holding four or five single beds. To the left is the hallway the teenagers rooms reside on, every room holds one or two of us between the ages of fourteen and seventeen years of age.

"That hallway holds all the teenagers bedrooms," I inform her, gesturing to the hallway to my left.

I guide us down the hallway to my right, noticing the open timber doors as the pressure of our weight causes the floor boards to creak loudly under our feet. I lead us down the hallway, pointing out the bathrooms and the small play room situated at the end of the hallways, full of broken toys from wear and tear.

"The rooms normally hold four or five kids in a room. The teenagers rooms however is generally one or two to a room. I think that is their way of making us comfortable here."

"Aren't you going to show me those rooms?" Demi questions, confusion falling into her make up covered facial features.

"No, only because it is basically the same, except majority of the rooms have their doors closed and we have on less bathroom," I shrug.

I make my way back downstairs, the rich chocolate brown orbed woman trails behind me, glancing over her shoulder at the hallway I refused to show her. I walk the famous singer to the last place to show her of this pathetic excuse of a care home, the room leads off of the main foyer with a solid timber door swinging easily on its hinges. The normally closed door lays open, the ocean orbed care worker claims the offices as her own every Saturday that rolls around, adoption day requiring a offices to talk to the potential adopters about the child they are seriously inquiring about. During the week this room belongs to the violent supervisor of this home, using this offices to hide away from the responsibility of looking after the over flowing house of unwanted children of the welfare system.

"This is the end of the tour of the house. I will leave you in the capable of Ellie to inform you of the formal shit," I mumble, refusing to make eye contact with either of them.

I exit the office without allowing anyone to say a single words, heading back through the main foyer, jogging up the rotting out wooden floor boards of the stair case. I drag my feet, dragging my feet as the floor boards creak under the pressure of my weight annoyingly. I shove open my bedroom down, leaving the solid timber door sitting ajar, knowing the younger kids won't bother me for as long as adoption day lasts to my relief.

I retrieve my sketch pad from its hiding place under my stained single bed mattress, flopping down on my unmade bed, crossing my legs under me and balancing my beloved sketch pad on my legs. I open it to another blank page of the half full sketch pad, I slip my MP3 player out of my pocket, shoving the earphone in to allow the purely perfect voice of Kellin Quinn to overtake my body. I guide the pencil held firmly in my grip over the blank page, humming along to ' _If I'm James Dean, You're Audrey Hepburn_ ' by Sleeping With Sirens. I close my eyes tightly shut for just a moment, allowing a memory of my baby brother to replay painfully in my inner demon filled mind, the images of his beautiful beaming smile blurring my vision. I suck in a shallow sharp breath, blinking away the tears forming, brimming in my chocolate brown orbs, gliding the led pencil over the blank canvas of sketch pad page.

It takes at least an hour to finish the drawing, the previous memory of his laughing features scribbled on the once blank page, a genuine beaming smile slipping onto my lips, pulling at the corners of my mouth. I feel proud of my efforts to capture his innocents, something the photos I once possessed use to show, I no longer possess the precious photos of my childhood because of the damage done by the younger children, along with my tormentor purposely destroying the treasured photographs.

In the time I've resided in this run down government funded care home I have learn many things, I've learnt to hide my valued items in unthinkable places. I learnt to steal off those more fortune than myself, a trait Alex practiced daily which lead him to be a prisoner in a juvenile detention facility and gave me a criminal record. I don't regret stealing, it's hard to live within this pathetic excuse of a care home for the unwanted children lost in the foster system, we wear tatty old clothes that are either too small or too big, sleeping on stained mattresses with a blanket filled with holes in the material of our only source of warmth once the night draws in, the cold chill whipping away at our thin bodies.

I shake my head softly, attempting to clear my buzzing mind to focus on my reality in cased around me. I suck in a deep but sharp breath, closing the tatty aged leather cover of my sketch pad and removing my earphones. I roll off my uncomfortable stain filled mattress covering my rusting metal bed frame, kneeling down on the rotting flooring to remove a few of the loose floor boards revealing one of my multiple hiding places, slipping my sketch pad into the unnoticeable cavity of one of the best hiding place residing in the crumbling bedroom. I insert the loose timber floor boards gently back into place, climb back onto my stained mattress, groaning through gritted teeth due to the broken metal spring digging painfully into my severely bruised lower back.

I startle at the whine of the solid timber door of my bedroom being gently pushed open, the door catching momentarily on the bowing floor boards. My gaze meets that of the ocean orbs of the woman in her late twenties, silently wondering what the caring care worker could possible want with me. I take in her beautiful facial features, disappointment and sadness evident, her usual beaming smile having disappeared completely.

"Harley, I need you to come downstairs to the office with me," Ellie instructs, a blunt bitterness coating her normally soft caring tone.

I bite my lower lip anxiously, slowly nodding my head and swinging my legs over the edge of my quickly deteriorating mattress. I grab my discarded hoodie from the foot of my bed, pulling the baggy item of clothing over my torso and shoving my treasured MP3 player into the pocket of oversized hoodie. I drag my feet, trailing behind the older ocean orbed woman who leads the way. I suck in shallow sharp mouthfuls of oxygen, my hands trembling anxiously at my sides as my gaze darts, taking in my surroundings as possibilities of the reasoning for Ellie instructing me to join her in the rarely used office, circulates in my buzzing mind.

"Ellie, am I in trouble or something?" I question confused, urging the older woman to explain desperately.

"I will tell you, just please be patient," she urges, refusing to meet confused gaze held firmly on the ocean orbed worker.

I groan frustrated, crossing my material covered arms dramatically over my torso, visually showing my distaste for this unexpected situation. The rotting out wooden floor board of the staircase creak violently under the pressure of our weight, I just really fucking hope none of these damaged floor boards covering the staircase snap in half under the pressure. I sigh in relief, my feet finally padding against the sturdiest flooring in this whole pathetic excuse of a government funded building. I trail behind the taller ocean orbed woman in her late twenties dragging my feet against the wooden floor boards of the main foyer leading to the sturdy timber front door. The normally open well hung solid timber door sits securely closed, my eye brows knit together in utter confusion at the unusual gesture.

I watch the ocean orbed care worker intently, her soft hands pressing against the solid polished timber door to pry the securely closed door open. She presses her back carefully into the timber door frame, she gestures for me to enter the surprisingly tiny beige carpeted office, I hesitate for a moment before crossing the daunting thresh hold. I suck in a sharp shallow intake of oxygen into my deprived lungs, taking in the perfectly curved standing figure of the rich chocolate orbed singer, holding my gaze on the older woman in her early twenties with my eye brows knitting together in confusion and concern sweeping uncontrollably over my facial features. The ocean orbed woman in her late twenties carefully closes the solid timber door behind herself, rounding the gorgeous polished oak desk, shuffling a large stack of paperwork and carefully placing the stack to the side. The emotionless ocean orbed care worker unlocks the metal filing cabinet, grazing her finger tips over the hundreds of files securely kept inside, searching for one in particular file.

"Are you going to tell me why the hell I am here, or not?" I question bitterly, raising my eye brow expectantly.

"Maybe if you cut the attitude, I will actually give you the answers you want," she retorts bluntly, a warning to her stern tone to be patient and behave due to the presences of famous woman also occupying the tiny carpeted office.

I huff, moving my expectant gaze from the stress filled figure of the ocean orbed woman in her late twenties to the rich chocolate orbed superstar. Demi smiles at me softly, a nervousness unconsciously slipping onto her gorgeous angelic facial features, her tongue grazing over her chapped lipstick covered lips anxiously. I frown, attempting to understand the situation unfolding in front of me, groaning when I still can't seem to understand the reasoning for my presences needed in the already occupied office.

I slump against the solid timber door, pressing my severely bruised back painfully against the cool timber, lightly biting down on my lower lip and tapping my foot impatiently against the beige carpet of the neat little office. I move my gaze back to the trusted ocean orbed worker, her finger tips still lightly graze over the large amount of files occupying the metal filing cabinet. My buzzing mind raging with so many possibilities, my anxiety rising in my chest, a panic attack just moments away from taking over my trembling body.

"Can you please just tell me what is going on, why am I here?" I question, pleading with the ocean orbed woman with the beautiful golden locks of her wave filled hair, my heart pounding against my bruised rib cage, my pulse racing dangerously fast and the palms of my trembling hands sweating profusely.

Ellie allows a sigh to tumble out from between her slightly parted lips, slipping the desired file out of the over flowing metal filing cabinet. She closes the squeaking metal, taking a seat in the leather covered swivel chair, refusing to meet my concerned gaze held firmly on her sitting figure. She carefully places the thick file own on the soft surface of the solid oak desk, flipping it open to reveal a mountain of paperwork sitting inside. Disappointment radiating off her well structured facial features, bitterness hanging in her tone and sadness swirling around in her normally vibrant ocean blue orbs.

"This here is your permanent record, Harley. It has every detail since you entered the child protection system to the present. It holds every single piece of information we know about you inside, including your criminal record and foster home placements," Ellie informs, gesturing to the thick file with my last school photo paper clipped to the first page of the massive pile of paperwork.

I suck in a sharp in take of oxygen, stuttering as I speak, "W-Why are y-you showing m-me this?"

"I have my reasons, ones I have yet to inform you of," she retorts bitterly.

The ocean orbed golden locked woman gestures for the rich chocolate orbed woman in her early twenties to take a seat in the chair opposite the stunning oak desk. The superstar hesitates, nervously slumping into the uncomfortable plastic chair laying opposite the older ocean orbed care worker, anxiously biting on her lower lip softly and carefully. Ellie slides the thick file across the smooth polished surface of the precious wooden desk to my utter disbelief, I look on in horror at the thought of the rich chocolate orbed superstar reading my lengthy file filled with my multiple mistakes.

"Why the fuck are you allowing her to read my file?" I ask bitterly, frustrated and angry at the idea of her finding out some of my hidden secrets laying inside.

"I told you I don't need to, nor do I want to see her file. It's not important, Ive already made my decision," Demi interjects, sliding the thick file back across the smooth surface of the polished wood.

"Tell me what the fuck is going on!" I snap, raising my voice, demanding their attention and pleading for answers.

I suck in shaky sharp breaths into my oxygen deprived lungs, gritting my teeth, setting my jaw as my hand tremble at my sides, attempting to calm my racing pulse and pounding heart. Both women holding their gaze on my trembling figure, concern and worry seeping onto their well structured facial features.

"Harley, you need to calm down," Ellie says softly, an apologetic gaze swirling around in her ocean orbs.

"Please just tell me what is going on," I plead, begging for answers desperately.

The older women in their twenties share a look between themselves, seemingly to have forgotten my presences, an awkward tension settling over three of us who occupy the beige carpeted office. I shift my gaze between them, confusion settling in my own rich chocolate orbs, impatiently waiting for my unanswered questions to be addressed and hopefully resolved by the older ocean orbed worker.

"Are you sure you want to do this, Miss Lovato?" Ellie questions.

The rich chocolate orbed woman glares at the trusted care worker, my gaze settling on the rich chocolate orbed singer, knitting my eye brows together in utter confusion. The famous superstar presses the soft skin of her palms against the smooth polish surface of the wooden desk.

"I signed all the documents you requested, I'm sure about my decision so please stop trying to change my mind," she retorts bluntly, frustration and annoyance seeping onto her gorgeous facial features.

"It is apart of my job to inform you of the huge responsibility you are taking on. It would be negligent to not inform you of the information I have. I would appreciate it if you could show some respect for myself and my job," Ellie remarks bitterly, slamming my file shut with unnecessary force.

I grit my teeth, taking a few hesitate step forward to try to defuse the tension filled situation. I clear my throat, remind the ocean orbed worker of my presences, the defence stance fades as ocean blue orbs gaze meets mine. A soft apologetic smile tugs at the corners of her lip gloss covered lips, disappointment and sadness seep into her well structured facial features, an emotion I don't understand.

"Can you two stop fucking around and just tell me what the hell is going on?" I question frustrated, shifting my glare between the ocean orbed worker and the famous rich chocolate orbed woman.

Ellie sighs, disappointment seeping into her well structured facial features, "Demi, has decided to adopt you. She had already signed the paperwork, lodging immediate fostering agreement paperwork until the adoption goes through in a few weeks."

"What?" I question in utter disbelief, shocked by the new information given to me.

"You will need to pack your bags, Harley. Demi lives in Los Angeles, so you will be on a flight from Dallas tomorrow morning with Miss Lovato return to her home in California. So, I suggest you head upstairs and start packing," Ellie instructs, refusing to allow any emotions to show in her ocean blue orbs or her well structured facial features.

"Uh..," I mumble, speechless.

"Upstairs now!" The ocean blue orbed worker snaps, catching me off guard by the bitterness in her tone, startling me slightly.

I suck in a sharp shallow breath, swallowing the massive lump in my throat and nodding softly. I turn on my heels swiftly, biting down on my lower lip and avoiding the gaze of the famous rich chocolate orbed singer. I run my hand roughly through my dyed blonde locks of hair, viciously yanking the sturdy timber door open and storming out the suffocating beige carpeted room. I slip my earphone in, blasting the angelic sound of Patrick Strump of _Fall Out Boy_.

 _"I thought of angels_

 _Choking on their halos_

 _Get them drunk on rose water_

 _See how dirty I can get them_

 _Pulling out their fragile teeth_

 _And clip their tiny wings_

 _Anything you say can and will be held against you_

 _So only say my name_

 _It will be held against you_

 _Anything you say can and will be held against you_

 _So only say my name_

 _If heaven's grief brings hell's rain_

 _Then I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday_

 _(I know I'm bad news)_

 _For just one yesterday_

 _(I saved it all for you)_

 _I want to teach you a lesson in the worst kind of way_

 _Still I'd trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday_

 _(I know I'm bad news)_

 _For just one yesterday_

 _(I saved it all for you)_

 _For just one yesterday -"_

I trudge up the rotting out wooden slats covering the stair case, I block out the world, humming along to the catchy tune uncontrollably I sigh, entering my bedroom at the end of the loose flooring of the upstairs hallways, clenching my jaw and balling my fists, rage pulsing through my veins painfully. The bitterness in the ocean orbed care workers tone tormenting me, the trusted woman snapping at my possible escape from the extensive abuse beyond pathetic, I didn't ask for anything, nor did I ask the famous chocolate orbed singer to do this for me. I go to extensive measures to hide my inner most sacred secrets, my demons hidden from the view of others, addicts evident but religious hidden from those who could possible care.

Leaving this abuse filled pathetic excuse of a care home is both a blessing and a curse. A blessing, hoping no physical harm will be inflict upon my already severely damaged tanned body. A curse, my addicts and sacred secrets potentially being revealed, new precautions needing to be implicated. I don't know how to feel, my emotions jumbled together in a muddle as my mind buzzes with multiple possibilities, my demons edging eagerly into my racing thoughts.

I groan, flopping onto the stained single bed mattress possessing a broken metal spring. I moan in discomfort, the spring digging painfully into my severely bruised lower back, my tan skin probably extremely discoloured in blackish blue bruises. I roll onto my stomach, sighing in relief as the pain subsides and the music blasting through the earphones blocks out the world around me. I close my eye lids tightly shut, sucking in deep breaths, allowing oxygen into my deprived lungs, attempting to clear my buzzing mind of the inner demon filled thoughts.

I should feel happy about leaving this run down, rotting out and crumbling government funded care home. But a feeling of dread settles over my numbed body, a feeling I can't seem to shake. I wonder what my new unwanted life in California will hold for me, will it be better than my already soul crushing life I've built here?

I guess only time and distance will tell.


End file.
